Writes Of Way

 

I’ve been asked to do a weeklong residency of workshops at the Writers Center at Moniack Mhor in Inverness next year. We have two writers, a guest speaker, about twenty students with plenty of cake. And wine.

The money is lovely, but it was the cake that sealed the deal.

My fellow resident person, Michael Malone and I are discussing how we want to run it. I’m happy to read things in advance, happy to do one-to-ones about pieces of work.

I have a few workshops up my sleeve; my favourite one is called - The Accountant.

To cultivate a sense of mystery, I’m saying no more about that.

 

Someone in our writers’ group sent their novel off to the association of people who writes the genre she writes for a critique. It came back - Does not have legs to carry the story, quite liked main character but nothing else.

That person did not write for long time after that. 

How horrible.

 

I think I’m going to start off my first talk with that story.

 

No critique should ever do that. Surely the editor should have said ‘Story not strong enough at the moment, but let’s think of ways to stick your main character further up the tree that they are desperately trying to climb down. How can we twist it. And twist it again. Get the pattern of the story more complex.  A single woman in pursuit a single man?  What’s the story?

 

How do we make the story more engaging?

                                 

Apart from The Accountant, I like to talk the attendees through the nuts and bolts of writing. The Writer’s Tool Kit.

 

Plotting is the logical sequencing of information. That’s a lot more simple than it sounds.

 

I use the word wombat a lot. A word that will only ever appear in print in the last novel I write.  I use it as a marker. I don’t stop to look back.  What was their dog called? What colour was that car?  “Wombat the spaniel sat in the front seat of the green, 25 plate wombat, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, looking like the idiot he was.”

 

At the end, I just search and find wombats and put in the right word. Walter the spaniel and it was a Dacia Duster.

 

All hints and tips from the MIE squad gladly received, you’ll get a mention and a picture of a bit of cake I will eat in your honour…

 

I’ll also talk about keeping track of versions.  I change font with each edit.  Bookman Antiqua, the Tahoma then the final draft is Times New Roman. Then I can tell what bits of the novel are at what stage.

                                    

I was looking up some literary trivia so I can name drop and sound as though I know what I’m talking about.

 

Truman Capote used 500 pencils very sharp pencils to write: a first draft on yellow paper, the second on white, third on yellow.

Tennessee Williams spoke out loud when he wrote. I live with somebody who does that and it’s good that we have a big house.

Henry Gibson always started writing at 4am, which suggests some circadian issues or adrenal malfunction. Or a dog that always wanted out at that time. Curious.

Anthony Trollop famously wrote seven pages of text per day. He’d end his session at the bottom of page seven, even if it was in the middle of a……

He claimed it made it easier to pick up the next day.

 

Georges Simenon wrote – wait for it - 200 pages in 11 days. That sounds impressive but how big was the paper and did he use 24-point font.

 

Isaac Asimov famously could do fifty pages in a day; he typed at a phenomenal speed. And this would be in the days of mechanical typewriters, clunking keys. Did he have RSI and if not, what was his secret?

 

Alexander Dumas could only sit down and write the book when the story was complete in his head and The Clockwork Orange (the nickname for the Glasgow underground train system) was written whilst Anthony Burgess was slightly inebriated. I have no idea if that’s true but it’s a good story, and a good way to write a good story.

Ernest Hemingway stopped writing for the day at the point where he felt he was writing at the top of his game, so that the continuance the next day would also be at the top of his game. I can recognise of I am writing smoothly and easily, but it’s only when I look back that I get any sense of whether what I have on the page is any good or not.

 

And of course, Noel Coward read the obituary column and if he wasn’t in it, he started to write.

Being busy, I am a JK Chesterton writer. I call us Martini writers. Any time, any place anywhere.

                                       

What Life is Like Tending Bar in Mykono

 

Jeff—Saturday

Current events being what they are these days, I almost feel like going back to drinking.  But I shant. Instead I'll share some secrets I've learned in (many) years past from those in the know who worked one of the foremost Greek Island bars....that's sadly no longer there.  But there's much to be learned from their recollections.  So, here we go.

Mykonos’ legendary Montparnasse Piano Bar closed for the season Friday night, giving all of its fans the chance to say adieu to its proprietors, Jody Duncan and Nikos Hristodulakis.  They’re responsible for bringing Broadway quality singers and pianists to the island, such as Kathy “Babe” Robinson and Mark Hartman who performed on its final night.

All of which inspired me to share insights I’ve gained from years of conversations with its singers and pianists.  Those impressions are incorporated into the story line of my Spring 2019 Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis novel, but I think they’re worthy of a bit of time in the spotlight on their own.  So, here goes….

Playing piano in a bar requires a certain mindset.  Think of it as trying to gain your balance on a surfboard...while playing a piano.

As the piano player, it’s up to you to read the room, and adjust on the fly to make sure everyone has a good time.  It could be the same crowd as from another night, but this time they show up with a completely different vibe.  The other night might have been their first night on the island, and everyone was up for a hell-raising good time. But when it came to their last night, it’d be all about nostalgia.

Unlike concert-goers, bar patrons show up with a mix of interests and expectations regarding the music: celebrants might come looking for upbeat tunes; friends on a night out might shout out song requests; business people might ignore the music as long as they can hear each other talk; and, of course, any alcohol-fueled seduction requires a background of romantic music.  Then there’s the solitary, glad-handing, over-imbiber who can’t resist trying to transform his evening alone into a communal sing-a-long

.

Whatever the mix of audience members, the piano-bar player faces the ever-present background chatter of customers, waiters, and bartenders exchanging orders and quips, all searching for the right volume at which to conduct their discussions, above or below the rattle of glassware and din of competing conversations.

If you work long enough in piano bars, you develop a mindset to cope with all of that.  Or you go crazy. 

When starting out in the business, some shut their eyes as they play and drift off into the sounds of the room, listening for the evening’s competing tones and rhythms, crescendos and diminuendos, bursts of staccato laughter, trumpeting shouts, and unexpected bits of silence.  Whether working with a singer or alone, they view their job as something like an orchestra conductor’s: to unite all those disparate sounds into a unified, symphonic performance. And ideally to draw the audience into an appreciative, tip-giving state of mind in the process.

As I said, that’s their thinking when they start out in the business.  But, over time, they come to learn their true role in a piano bar, and with that realization achieve a Zen-like understanding of the meaning of their life’s work.  It’s so simple, so obvious, and so intrinsically calming to an artist’s soul:

Their job is to sell drinks. Period, end of story.

I’ll drink to that.  Thank you, David Dyer, Mark Hartman, and Bobby Peaco for all those wonderful tunes.

David

Mark

Bobby

PS. I'd be woefully remiss if I didn't mention the two brilliant vocalists in addition to Babe who bring their Broadway level talents to bear in making The Piano Par the place to be in the Cyclades for high end entertainment--Phyllis Pastore, who's been wowing audiences here for 27 years, and Sara Mucho, the youngest member of the Montparnasse musical crew.  Thank you all!

—Jeff

Environment Matters

Karen Odden - every other Thursday 

I’ve just returned from hiking the Grand Canyon with my daughter, Julia, and her new fiancé, Braden. It’s probably the twentieth time I’ve hiked it since moving to Arizona in 2003. Usually, we go down Kaibab Trail to the Colorado River and back up Bright Angel Trail in a day (16 miles, 5,000 feet elevation change), but sometimes we take one of the other trails. Last year I hiked North Rim to South Rim (25 miles), which was our plan this time, but the lodge at North Rim burned down this past summer – truly a tragedy; it was a treasured landmark – so we rejiggered our route to the South Rim trails. Thunderstorms were predicted, but they held off, and we had dreamy, drifty clouds all day instead. 

When I say, "environment matters," I mean that the geography of a place can affect every aspect of a dweller’s life. When I moved to Arizona, I had no idea how profoundly my life and my body, my daily practices, and my ways of thinking about everything from water to distances would be changed. 

I still remember the first morning I woke up in Arizona. We’d bought a house in the foothills of the McDowell Mountains, with a patio out back. I came out with my coffee and sat, mesmerized by the enormous inverted blue bowl of sky, and I swear something in my chest cracked open. (This photo is from Sunrise Trail, about twenty minutes from my house, taken one afternoon last year.) 

Within a few months, I made some new friends who happened to be avid hikers (as many Arizonans are), and I tagged along, more for the company than the exercise, to be honest. Eventually a 4- or 5-mile hike became my morning routine, and I started hiking the Grand Canyon every year. This is not something I could have done back east – or could have imagined doing. 

This is my point, I guess. What I can imagine, and how I perceive the world and myself in it, is profoundly determined by my physical landscape. Perhaps it’s not the same for everyone or everywhere, but Arizona, with its vast desert, hulking mountains, unusual climate, and strange beauty, has impressed itself upon me more strongly than anywhere else I’ve lived (including upstate New York, New York City, Ann Arbor, San Diego, Rhode Island, Connecticut, Milwaukee, and, briefly, London). 

Living in Arizona, my children were outside every single day of their lives. In the fall, winter, and spring, we were at the park; in the summer, we were in the pool, rather than indoors for much of the winter, the way I was, growing up in Rochester NY, with dastardly winter temps. Because of Arizona, I’m scrupulously conscientious about hydrating; I always have a water bottle with me. I hike nearly every day. I’ve even lost my phobia about snakes (not that I don’t jump when I see one, but they’re just part of the landscape now). I also think nothing of a two-hour drive to Tucson to visit my son. And I believe I have a vaster sense of what is possible in my life generally, because every morning, from my hiking trail in the McDowells (photo, above), I can see for miles.

I don’t intend to tie everything back to my fascination with Victorian London, but the riparian  environment is one of the things that compels my interest. Think about it – what would London be without the Thames? The river is the lifeblood of the city, as well as the repository for the city’s detritus. From the times of Londinium, the river determined virtually everything about the city. 

When I wrote Down a Dark River, and made Inspector Corravan a former lighterman, I did it partly because I wanted to explore how the Thames and the land shaped each other, modes of travel, work, and experience, and people’s lives. 

Many people don't realize the Thames is tidal –twice a day, the river changes direction from ebb to flow. This is why mud larking – aka scrounging in the dirt on the banks of the river, like these folks are near Blackfriars Bridge (Dec. 2022) -- is still a popular pursuit. The tide washes up treasures and trash alike. FYI - if you want to try mud larking, you can book a guided expedition, complete with waders and bucket, on Tripadvisor here: https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g186338-d13998271-r946820248-Cultureseekers-London_England.html.

So here's a question for you: Of all the places you've lived, is there one that impressed itself upon you more than others, and, if so, why?

Blue Skies Smilin' On Me Redux

Annamaria on Monday

Today I am harkening back to a post from 9.75 years ago.  Yesterday, Brother Jeff talked about that proverbial question for novelists: where do you get your ideas.  Here is the story of my first week-long stay in my ancestral city of Siracusa.  I have been back a few times. (But not enough. For me there is never enough).  My ideas almost always start with a place. 

The visit this blog describes started a story pouring out of that place in my head where (it feels like to me) all my stories come from.  It is a story like some others I have written, but also a departure a significant way.

I worked on that story while I was also continuing with my East Africa series.  I had a good draft done by the dawn of 2019, when a tsunami of four bad/dumb issues hit the proverbial fan.  They began with a publishing snafu, and the last was Covid.  Now, I have real hopes for that story, which was inspired by my visit to Siracusa.   

First view of Etna while landing at Catania

I came to Sicily last Monday and found the weather of a lovely day in June in New York.  The richness of my experience that over this past week defies communicating in one blog post. If they asked me, I could write a book about this place and what it means to me and to the rest of the civilized word.  I will tell you more about it over the next few weeks.  Today, I will begin with my first two days alone in Siracusa and confine this post to the Ortigia—the island that comprised the city’s power center during ancient times and that is now, in its entirety, part of the Patrimony of Humanity.  (It does not include, by the way, the ancient ruins and the in-tact Greek theater, one of best preserved in the world, that are on the mainland.  We can go there another time.) 

The area around my ancestral city was inhabited in prehistory.  The first Greek settlers came to this island in 734 BC.  By 500 BC, Siracusa had overflowed the original island settlement and was as large as Athens.  Eventually, it became the capital of Magna Grecia.  I first visited in 1979 and have been back six or seven times.  But this time I came with a story in mind and there were specific things I wanted to look at that are important in the lives and movements of my characters. 

Let me show you just some of what I saw.

After checking in—

A view from my room.  This port is where a major battle of the Peloponnesian
Wars took place, when Siracusa defeated Athens.

Another view, toward the mainland part of the city

I headed straight for the Piazza del Duomo to visit the place of greatest interest for me, given my story, and for anyone who comes here: the Duomo itself.  The Greeks built a fabulous Doric temple on this spot.  When the first Christian sanctuary in Europe was built here, the architects incorporated the temple structure.  You don’t see the likes of this anywhere else.

Entering the Piazza del Duomo

The Baroque facade.

From the side view you can see the Doric columns of the
Temple of Athena, built by the Greek colonists in 500BC.

Here is the other side of that exterior wall, again with
the columns in plain view.

I have so many gorgeous things I want to show you, but I’ll have to stop now because the Wi-Fi where I am today is very slow and unstable, and we may see the turn of the next millennium before all the photos I would like to show you upload.  Besides. we have to be kind to Jeff and make sure that his level of envy does not reach apoplectic proportions.

As we say here, a presto (See you soon).  Presto is a word that does not apply to the speed of my Wi-Fi while working on this blog.

Here a few more shots taken on subsequent visits, with a better camera.

 Apology: Blogger won't let be schedule this for midnight.  It says that is against its rules.  It does this sometimes, but not all the time. I have tried to argue with it.  Evidently it is deaf as well as dumb. 

So, Dear Author, Where Do You Get Your Ideas?

Jeff–Saturday 

I doubt there’s an author out there who hasn’t been asked that question. Answers range from the comic to the cosmic, often citing sources as diverse as “my neighborhood Walmart” and “the Lord Almighty.” 

My personal favorite answer is Stephen King’s observation: “Amatures sit and wait for inspiration. The rest of us just get up and go to work.” 

Frankly, that advice applies to far more than just writers, for it’s a fair question often asked by folk who sincerely need a bit of guidance on the inspiration process. So, as a public service I’m going to offer an example of how I at times find inspiration. 

It's rather simple. I read the newspapers. 

Writing as I do about Greece, it’s usually Ekathimerini–Greece’s ‘paper of record– that I turn to for inspiration. Generally, it’s not the reported story that gets my plot and character development juices flowing, but rather what’s not there or left unanswered. 

For this post I’ve selected and set out below six articles from today’s Ekathimerini that suggested inspirational possibilities to me. What I wonder is whether they trigger any ideas in you? I’ve indicated in bold where I found what I think interesting plot and character inspiration possibilities. Do you see the same or something different? 

If not, perhaps Walmart isn’t such a bad idea.  

Article One: Questions abound as authorities review footage in case of drowned, unclaimed young girl.

 

Questions are mounting as authorities review CCTV footage related to the case of an unclaimed young girl, approximately three years old, who was found apparently washed ashore at Palaio Faliro beach in southern Athens in the early hours of Sunday morning. 

Investigators are concentrating on footage recorded Saturday night, several hours before the girl’s body was discovered. 

One video shows a woman walking in the Palaio Faliro area, accompanied by two young boys and pushing a pram containing another child. Authorities reviewing the footage believe the child in the pram appears to be wearing a long-sleeved swimsuit in fuchsia shades – matching the bathing suit worn by the girl found at Edem beach. The child’s face is covered by a kerchief and a hat. 

In subsequent footage, the same woman is seen stopping at a kiosk. The child in the pram remains in what appears to be the same position as in the previous scene. 

Later, another camera captures the woman abandoning an empty pram beside a shrub in a nearby park at Edem beach. 

[Inspiration:] The material gathered from the surveillance videos has prompted a number of observations. The two boys with the woman are not wearing swimsuits. The child’s facial features are fully obscured by the kerchief and hat, donned despite it being nighttime. Also, in all clips, the child seems to maintain an identical body posture. 

According to the coroner, the young girl died from drowning, estimated to have occurred 24 to 36 hours prior to the body’s discovery. 

Article Two: One man found dead, another injured in Athens apartment incident. 

A 31-year-old man was found dead and another injured at an apartment in central Athens on Friday afternoon after the survivor, a 48 year-old man who had been beaten and tied up, managed to free himself and alert police. 

Police officers arriving at the scene, at a flat in the capital’s Agios Panteleimonas district, discovered the victim tied up and severely beaten. 

The 48-year-old survivor, who was taken to Athens’ Evangelismos Hospital for treatment, claimed that four people entered the apartment and, after tying him and the 31-year-old victim, began beating them brutally. 

[Inspiration:] Forensic experts are assisting police in investigating the circumstances surrounding the incident. 

Article Three: Driver accused of killing 22-year-old in Hania crash remanded in custody. 

A 45-year-old man, accused of causing the fatal traffic accident in Hania [Crete] that claimed the life of a 22-year-old, was remanded in custody on Wednesday following his testimony. 

Test results showed that the man was heavily intoxicated at the time of the accident. 

During his testimony, he expressed deep regret and apologized. He stated that he felt immense sorrow for the 22-year-old and even mentioned that he would have preferred to have been the one to die instead. 

He is facing felony charges, with penalties ranging from 10 to 20 years in prison, as explained by his defense lawyer. 

[Inspiration:] On Tuesday, Greece’s Prime Minister ordered the removal of senior officers at the Hania Police Department after it was revealed that officers on the island failed to detain the driver, despite finding him driving under the influence and without a license shortly before the deadly accident. 

Article Four: Man, 53, pulled dead from makeshift tunnel near Larissa A 53-year-old man was pulled dead from a makeshift tunnel near the central city of Larissa, [Greece] authorities said on Wednesday.

The man had been trapped inside the tunnel on Tuesday afternoon in the remote area between the settlements of Gonnoi and Kallipefki. Rescuers initially maintained contact with him, but his condition deteriorated rapidly during the final stage of the extraction, the fire brigade said in a statement. 

Twenty-seven firefighters from Larissa and specialized emergency units in Thessaloniki and Larissa took part in the rescue operation, which concluded shortly after midnight, the statement added. 

Authorities said the tunnel had initially been entered by a group of four to five people, several of whom experienced dizziness and discomfort. One man managed to get out and alert emergency services, followed shortly afterwards by the others. 

The cause of the incident is under investigation, and officials are also examining the purpose of the tunnel’s construction. 

[Inspiration:] Local reports suggested it may have been dug in search of treasure. 

Article Five: Police focus on will, forensic evidence in double murder case. 

Police are focusing on forensic findings, electronic devices and the contents of a will to solve the double murder at the Foinikounda campsite in the Peloponnese, where a 68-year-old business owner and a 50-year-old caretaker were shot dead. 

Investigators are placing renewed attention on the victim’s latest will, which is scheduled to be opened on Friday at 9.30 am at the Pylos Magistrate’s Court. The process was expedited at the request of authorities, who are comparing it with a previous version drafted about a year ago, looking for any changes that could reveal a motive. 

No arrests have been made, but police have questioned the sole eyewitness – the victim’s nephew – who described the shooter as young, fair-skinned and petite. He did not recognize any of the suspects shown to him in photographs. Forensic reports suggest the owner was shot twice in his office, while the caretaker was hit three times while trying to flee. A fourth bullet struck a nearby caravan, and police are investigating whether it may have been aimed at the eyewitness. 

Video evidence shows a vehicle believed to have been used in the escape passing through villages in Ilia. Authorities suspect the killer fled by motorcycle, though the vehicle has not been found. The absence of security cameras at the scene has hindered progress. 

[Inspiration:] Police are also looking into a previous incident involving the 68-year-old victim, who was lightly injured in a shooting with an air gun about a month earlier. 

Article Six: Judge shot dead in Albania courtroom, gunman arrested after fleeing. 

A judge at the Tirana appeals court was shot dead on Monday by a man involved in a trial, police in Albania said. The gunman fled the scene but was later arrested. 

Judge Astrit Kalaja was shot inside the courtroom by a 30-year-old suspect with the initials E. Sh., according to police. Kalaja died while being taken to a hospital. 

The gunman also shot two other people involved in the hearing, police said. Their injuries weren’t life-threatening. 

Authorities haven’t provided details about the motive, or the nature of the case being heard. The case found at the court’s website referred to a property. 

Police later arrested the suspect, who ran away after the shooting, and also found the alleged revolver he used. 

[Inspiration:] Following sweeping judicial reforms launched in 2016 with support from the European Union and US, tens of thousands of cases have been delayed for years. [AP] 

––Jeff

The tale of the other painting!

 Caro From Scotland - Every Friday ( well I try to!)

The painting of the Scottish Landscape has played a crucial role in defining our artistic heritage. It is often looked at through a rather romantic lens, with less rain and less wind than a more realistic portrayal.  The colour palette of such a work of art would be fifty shades of brown with highlights of green and grey.

Here’s a quote ‘This genre {Scottish Romantic Landscape Painting} not only reflects the physical beauty of Scotland but also contributes to the broader narrative of Scottish identity and heritage.’

It might explain why we drink so much.

There are many famous Scottish paintings but let’s look at one painted by an Englishman, Mr Edward Landseer. I rather like that he’s called Landseer.

The Monarch of the Glen

Painted in 1851 to be hung in the Palace of Westminster, in London. I’m sure you are all familiar with it – well those who have hung about in this part of the world, as it sold widely in reproductions and was then bought by companies to use in advertising, soap, whisky and biscuits mostly.  According to the Sunday Herald the painting has become "the ultimate biscuit-tin image of Scotland: a bulky stag set against the violet hills and watery skies of an isolated wilderness".

Well, it’s a better image than Trainspotting!

In 2017 the National Galleries of Scotland bought the painting back for £4 million, about half its value at the time, for the people of Scotland, and was paid for by the people of Scotland.

So, standing back and looking at the landscape of Scottish art, in both senses, it’s no surprise that when a young artist called Pam Carter came along with a new look and a new interpretation, the art world was very impressed.

Pam mostly painted Scotland’s coastal scenery. Born in Tanganyika (now Tanzania) in 1952 to an Austrian mother and Scottish father, she moved to Scotland aged 13. But I think you can see in the way she uses colour that there’s a vibrancy and intensity about it that reflects back to her early life, steeped  in East African culture, weather and a very different landscape. She attended Glasgow School of Art in the 1970s ( That’s the MacIntosh building that was burned down) and spent much of her life teaching art before becoming a full time artist  at the millennium.

I think the website dedicated to her work explains it very well. ‘Her work is deeply rooted in the Scottish landscape, particularly the Western Isles and the dramatic coastlines of the east. She was drawn to the interplay of light and colour in these regions, often using bold hues to capture the changing moods of the sea and sky. Her paintings frequently feature white sandy beaches, rugged cliffs, and isolated crofts, evoking both the beauty and solitude of Scotland’s remote areas. Though human presence is rarely depicted directly, subtle signs—like smoke from chimneys or laundry on a line—hint at life within the landscape.’

And she does that beautifully. And I think her paintings have a sense of joy, fun, colour  and an energy. A nice contrast to rain, heather and a few rain drenched sheep.

There’s another artist I’d like to tell you about. Let’s call her Mo. She’s a rather lovely lady, full of laughter. She has a neurological condition that leaves her unable to work because, well, she falls over on a weekly basis, usually down the large hole she was trying to avoid.

If she medicates enough to have really good control of her balance etc, she becomes mentally slow and feels ‘dulled.’  As if her battery is running out, and it takes her too long to process things when her natural nature is as bright as a button, as sharp as a tack.

Her inability to stay upright/on course means she injures herself quite a lot, and that brings her into my clutches.

 In the village they know her and keep an eye out; when she feels an attack coming in, she can sit in the café,  or in the clothes shop, or in the butcher until it passes; much less damage to be done when falling from a sitting position.

She taught herself to paint, and therefore feels inferior to those who have a degree in it, but she’s very talented and can paint anything.

She found a picture I had on my facebook page and decided to paint it for me. She thought it was terrible, she thought I wouldn’t recognise it.

 I did immediately as it’s the view I look at when I go to Gran Canaria to write.

She offered to redo the trees as she didn’t think they were good enough.

I told her to leave it exactly as it is. It’s a delight!

Gran Canaria By Wee Mad Mo.